


Imago / Phantom Pain

by PlotDotOh (TheCheerfulPornographer)



Series: Second Skins [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Regret, Talking, Unhappy Ending, do I really need to tag for movie spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCheerfulPornographer/pseuds/PlotDotOh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two possible futures for Tony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imago / Phantom Pain

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to finish happy, read Imago last. If you want to finish sad, read Phantom Pain last.

**Imago**

"You know, one of my favorite verses from the Tao Te Ching says, 'If you want to become full, let yourself be empty; if you want to be reborn, let yourself die; and if you want to be given everything, you must give everything up.' It kind of reminds me of that." Bruce shifted around in the chair and lifted his arms, stretching.

"Wow," Tony said. "I'm shocked, Bruce."

"What, that I read the Tao Te Ching? Why is that so shocking?"

"No, that you were awake for enough of my story to be able to spout off vaguely-related religious nonsense in response."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Whatever. The Tao Te Ching is ancient and beautiful, Tony."

"Right, exactly. So why on earth would you think that _I_ would give a rat's ass about it? Honestly, Bruce, sometimes it's like you don't even know me."

The scientist rolled his eyes again, even harder. "I guess I live in hope," he said. "But seriously, Tony. It does sound like blowing up all of those extra suits has got you feeling better, right? Like maybe freer, perhaps?"

"Yeah," Tony admitted. "That's a good way to describe it. I guess... I guess the thing I realized is that they were a product of my fear. I built them to feel safe, but it never worked. I never felt safe, no matter how many I built. And then..."

"And then I didn't have them anymore, and it made me realize that _this_ " — he tapped his forehead — "is where my safety comes from. Not from an army of Iron Man suits, but from the fact that I can build whatever I need, when I need it. That I don't need my fancy lab and all of my toys, to be able to take care of business.

"The thing is — and I can't say this to many people, Bruce, but I think you'll understand — breaking into a fucking heavily-armed terrorist hideout with gear that I made from a random hardware store was _fun_. It was a real back-to-basics moment." Tony leaned back in his chair. "In short, it reminded me that I'm awesome."

"Once I remembered that, I realized that I made all of those suits because I forgot for awhile that I'm awesome, and thought that I needed to enhance myself more and more. More hands, more eyes, more guns. But I'll build hands if and when I need hands, and I'll build guns if and when I need guns. Because, as I said, I _am_ awesome, so I can do that."

"Well, you're definitely back to normal." Bruce paused. "So you're not going to stop inventing, then?"

"God, no," Tony said. "I'm getting back to my roots, not abandoning them completely. Building shit is what I do. And besides, I'm actually excited to work on a new project. Something that isn't a new suit, for a change." He scratched his head. "I think that's actually the longest I've stuck with one project ever. I think that part of my problem was that I was bored, and didn't even know it."

"Good, good," Bruce said. "You know, when I heard that you'd blown up your suits, I was scared that you'd given up on engineering completely."

"No way in hell," Tony said. "Not the slightest chance."

He rose to his feet, and extended his hand to Bruce. The scientist took it, and Tony pulled him up out of his chair. "Come on," he said. "I want to get your opinion on this prototype I'm working on. It's a visual display system, inspired by my suit's HUD. It works via an optical nerve implant, so I was thinking that first it could be used by blind people, sort of like Geordi's VISOR in Star Trek..."

  


Tony and Bruce wandered off toward his lab, deeply engrossed in a discussion about Tony's latest project. 

  
  
 

**Phantom Pain**

It all starts when Tony stretches out his hand (the original one) behind himself, to pass a glass off to one of his other hands. There's no one there to take it; the glass falls and shatters on the tile floor.

Of course. They're gone, all of them. He destroyed them, and he doesn't regret it. Not really.

Not much.

Right?

He destroyed them because... well, because Pepper had just almost died, and in that moment he'd prayed to a God that he had never believed in, that if somehow she could only be alive and okay, he would do everything within his power to make her happy.

And then she was, and so he did, and it worked. Pepper was happy when Tony blew up the suits – happier than Tony had ever before seen her. 

She was so happy that they'd gone directly to New York, to their other home in Stark Tower, and fallen into bed and not left it for three days. The Extremis gave Pepper a frankly unholy amount of stamina, and they'd fucked and fucked and fucked until Tony was exhausted, and then she'd let him sleep, and then they'd fucked some more.

Pepper was _so_ happy.

This is the first time since then that Tony's been into his lab. The first time since... the Event.

Since he destroyed them.

He tries to open another pair of eyes to survey the broken glass, but nothing happens. 

Right. 

He is blind now, robbed of everything except for this one field of view. 155 degrees, in just one narrow light spectrum.

More than three-quarters of his vision has gone missing.

He forces himself to physically turn, looking away from the old arc reactor prototype with which he's been idly fiddling. He stares down at the broken glass, the ice and vodka spilling itself out onto his floor. 

Suddenly his breath starts to come fast, and his hands begin to shake. An anxiety attack? Fuck. He'd thought that he was done with that. He sinks back against the workbench, trembling on legs that suddenly cannot support him, and feels like he's about to hurl.

In the moment, riding high on adrenaline and optimism, he'd felt certain that he could change. That he could become an entirely new man — the kind of man that Pepper wanted and deserved. A "normal" man, the kind of man who didn't need the suit. Who didn't need to rely on machines to stay alive, for the first time in his life. 

(The arc reactor was far from the first time a machine had saved him. Even as a kid, they'd saved him — though not in the same way.)

Hell, in that moment, he'd been so swept up that he'd even vowed to give up booze. 

He squats down, and stares hard at the sharp-smelling vodka that's currently sterilizing his workshop floor. He didn't even know why he'd poured the glass, it was just... He'd come down here and he'd stared at his workbench, and he couldn't think, he couldn't _think_.

Nothing going. No mental shapes, no new ideas. And he knew that it would help, if he could just have one drink.

He reaches out his finger and smears it through the spreading puddle, idly pushing an ice cube away. His skin gets caught on something: a tiny, invisible, razor-sharp piece of glass. A smear of red blood mars the clear perfection. 

Tony stares at it, the substance of his life upon the floor, and suddenly he starts to cry.

Sometimes his memory goes to the strangest places. Right now, for some reason, it calls up a Bible verse. He'd heard it from some crazy, spittle-flecked street preacher, and it had stuck in his mind, just because it was so gruesome. 

"If your right eye causes you to offend, pluck it out, and cast it from you: for it is better for you that one of your members should perish, and not that your whole body should be cast into hell. And if your right hand causes you to offend, cut it off, and cast it from you: for it is better for you that one of your members should perish, and not that your whole body should be cast into hell." 

Well, he's gone and done just that. He's gouged out all of his eyes, cut off all of his good hands. He's destroyed every single part of himself that has offended.

And he still feels like he's in hell.

This is bad. This is very, very bad. Is he a worm or a starfish, to regenerate his entire life from one small fraction of the whole? What the fuck does he do now?

Well, there's one sure path. Tony walks it with the ease of years of practice, making his way to the liquor cabinet without bothering to wipe away the tears.

In the American Civil War, they used to give the soldiers whiskey as an anaesthetic, before doctors sawed off a limb. Maybe the same thing will work now, after the fact.

It's worth it. _She's_ worth it.

He's already done it, so she damn well has to be.

  


Tony selects a clean glass, and begins to pour.

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I had two very different reactions to the scene in the movie where Tony blows up all of his suits. These stories are an exploration of that.
> 
> Imago is the word for the adult stage of an insect that transforms, like a butterfly. (It's also the name of an excellent sci-fi novel by Octavia Butler.)
> 
> Phantom pain is the condition wherein amputees continue to feel pain "in" the limb that no longer exists. We're still not completely sure why it happens.
> 
> The Tao Te Ching quote is from chapter 22, of the Stephen Mitchell translation.
> 
> The Bible quote is from Matthew, chapter 5, verses 29 and 30, of the King James 2000 translation.


End file.
